


Reflections in Moonlight

by static_abyss



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Makeup, Not Epilogue Compliant, Post-Break Up, Post-War, Self-Reflection
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-05
Updated: 2020-08-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 02:34:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24836221
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/static_abyss/pseuds/static_abyss
Summary: A walk in the Forbidden Forest brings forth old regrets about Harry's parents, about his future, and inevitably, about his past relationship with Draco. On a cold winter night under the moonlight, Harry learns he can find absolution in the unlikeliest of places.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Comments: 30
Kudos: 109
Collections: HP Inspired by Imagery Fest - 2020





	Reflections in Moonlight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [gnarf](https://archiveofourown.org/users/gnarf/gifts).



> I would like to thank [alwaysparis](https://alwaysparis.tumblr.com/) for reading this over for me and putting so much dedication into making this fic what it is. I am really grateful for all their hard work. Thank you to the mods for running this fest and to gnarf for the lovely prompt.
> 
> Inspiration for this fic came from [this tumblr post](https://j-photography.tumblr.com/post/615508453674352640/snapped-this-picture-new-years-eve-a-couple-of).

It doesn't start as a conscious thought. 

Harry doesn't have anything so concrete as a plan, more of a fleeting memory of his mother's face and his father's smile. He saw them—found himself in his mother's bright green eyes and his father's messy dark brown hair, in the shape of his mother's mouth and on the curve of his father's ears. The people in the photographs of the album Hagrid gave him were his parents, determined faces contrasted by joyous smiles in other pictures. Every bit of them that exists in the worn pages was real once and Harry can prove it. 

His first thought is the resurrection stone, the dark green rock with the jagged cut down the middle, lost to the Forbidden Forest. He imagines going looking for it, just to confirm it exists, to hold it again. He would never use it to bring his parents back. He knows better than to add the burden of his parents' ghosts to what he carries now. He just wants to know it was real, to have something solid in his hands. It's a fleeting thought that sticks despite Harry trying to fall back asleep. 

Outside of the eighth-year Boys' Dormitory, the moon hides behind the cloudy sky. Harry can see the edges of light that suggest a full moon and he shivers as he imagines all the things that come alive at night. He thinks of Remus and Tonks, of Teddy covered in blankets, oblivious to the pain of losing a parent. 

Harry kicks the sheets off himself and stands before he knows what he's doing. He's wearing Ron's maroon nightshirt over the blue pyjama pants Mr and Mrs Weasley gave him last Christmas, and because the day was cold, Harry takes his cloak with him. In spite of the rustling sheets and Harry's attempts to find his boots in the dark, none of the others stir.

He takes a last look at the ten beds in the large room that used to hold the Dueling Club back when Lockhart had been a Professor. So many years ago now, and Harry can still remember exactly where he'd stood when Draco had cast the first spell against him. They'd been children, all of them. The weight of that truth closes around Harry's heart until he feels as though he can't breathe. They are all still so young. 

He exhales shakily, throws his cloak around his shoulders, and eases out the door into the darkened Hogwarts corridors. He can smell the faint scent of wet concrete as he makes his way down the staircases that will take him to the castle’s front doors. The smell and the bright stone are the only indications that anything happened inside the castle walls. Everything else, including the laughter in the Great Hall every morning, is still the same. The classes, the expectations of good grades, the constant persistent push from Hermione to study, to pass his NEWTs, to apply for jobs that will make a difference. 

It's as though the war happened and everyone inside Hogwarts forgot, as though they don't dream of the crumbling walls and the acrid scent of flying curses. On some nights, Harry still reaches for his wand when anyone gets too close or when Draco accidentally bumps into him. It's instinct, always, to defend himself, even if the things Draco inspires these days are quieter in nature. 

The staircases creak as Harry climbs down. He didn't bother with the Invisibility Cloak and doesn't bother to hide the sound of his footsteps on the stone floors. It's not as though anyone will stop him if they see him. Harry has run into professors wandering the halls on other nights, has seen the way they look at him with expectant eyes as though Harry's supposed to know what to do next. As though he, like Dumbledore before him, holds all the answers.

He shivers against the cold as he pushes the front doors open and slips out into the night. The chill of the February air hits him full force, the biting wind making his ears sting. The tip of his nose is cold almost immediately, but Harry has made it this far and he doesn't intend to go back now. He draws his cloak tighter against himself and heads out into the lawn, what's left of the grass, frozen and crunching underfoot. 

He takes a left before Hagrid's cabin and heads for the Forbidden Forest. The trees are bare, save for a few evergreens scattered here and there. In the absence of the moon, the shadows loom ominous and overwhelming. But Harry's dreamt of this moment many times since the end of the war. In his dreams, the forest engulfs him until Harry's running blindly, branches and hands reaching out for him as he desperately tries to find a way out. He never makes it out.

If things were easy, Harry knows, he wouldn't be out after hours. He'd be home with his parents, or with the Weasleys, or Sirius. And though Harry knows that he can't change things now, he feels the same bone-weary tiredness that comes from wishing he could. He imagines Teddy and Andromeda, and pain accompanies the exhaustion until Harry wishes he'd taken Fleur up on the offer to send him away for a while after the war. 

He wants the expectations to stop for a moment, for Hermione to let go of the idea that Harry must want to throw himself into Ministry work, for the professors to stop looking at him as though they expect something from him. He wishes the students' whispers were louder so that they'd blend together with the everyday bustle of Hogwarts life, so that everything would just become a buzzing that Harry could ignore. 

The truth is he doesn't know if he wants to fix the wizarding world. 

The hard truth is that Harry died and then came back and he doesn't know if there's more he can give. 

The honest truth is that he's never been so angry in his life. 

-

The clouds part as Harry comes to the first clearing past the path that starts near Hagrid's hut. He stands by the cluster of trees at the edge of the clearing and watches the full moon push through. The space in front of him lights up slowly, each gust of wind bringing with it more brightness until Harry can see the large expanse of untrampled weeds. They droop in the cold, their leaves curled inward against the winter night. 

Across from him, Harry can see another cloaked figure, the bright almost-white blond hair impossible to miss. It feels fitting that Draco's here when Harry's at his lowest, just another opportunity for Draco to kick him while he's down. But it occurs to Harry as he crosses the clearing that perhaps, just like him, Draco has things that keep him awake at night. 

It's not a new thought—not even an original one since Hermione's brought it up multiple times—but it strikes differently under the full moon. That Draco could be awake because he, too, feels the same heaviness in his heart, this suffocating obligation. The wizarding world expects Harry to save them and for Draco to prove himself. In some ways, the expectations set upon them are exactly the same. In some ways, so are Harry and Draco. 

"Draco," Harry says, coming to a stop in front of him.

Draco lifts his chin, defiant until the end, even though Harry can see the bags under his eyes, dark prominent things that speak of many sleepless nights. 

"You haven't been sleeping," Harry says. 

Draco almost smiles then. "Neither have you," he says.

Harry reaches out without thinking, his fingers gentle against Draco's face, his thumb barely touching the edges of the bags under Draco's eyes. He watches as Draco closes his eyes, how he leans into Harry's touch as though he hasn't forgotten how.

"You don't talk to me anymore," Harry says, letting his hand fall away. 

"I've been busy," he says.

Harry thinks of the beginning of the year, the way he'd been so certain of what he'd wanted, how easy it'd been to slide into the seat next to Draco and steal his breakfast. He could still see the surprise on Draco's face, the way it'd given way to curiosity, to interest. In the beginning, Harry had known what he wanted, what life after the war would entail. He'd pursued Draco with the same focused intensity with which he'd hunted down the Horcruxes, until Harry noticed what he was doing. Until Draco had asked why Harry was still trying so hard and Harry had been unable to answer.

He doesn't regret what happened because being with Draco had given Harry a safe place to find himself. Draco hadn't known Harry well enough to hold any expectations of who Harry was supposed to be, so Harry had had the room to build himself anew. At the end of it, he'd realized he had no idea who he was meant to be.

All his life, Harry had been made to believe that he had to save the wizarding world. He'd had purpose and focus. After Dumbledore had died, he'd had a mission and an end goal. But now it's over and Harry has nothing. 

Not even Draco.

-

"You're quiet tonight," Draco says.

They're walking side by side, close enough that their hands brush with every other step they take. Harry still doesn't know why Draco's in the forest, but they've come to a silent agreement to walk together. Harry says nothing as they move through the path, the branches crunching underfoot, the leaves whispering in the wind. The night is full of the hoot of owls, the soft sighs of life in the depths of the forest, rustles of larger things just out of sight. 

Harry thinks of how to say that he's never had a parent and that tonight, this truth hurts more than usual. He doesn't think Draco would understand, the same way he doesn't think Ron or Hermione could ever fully understand. No matter how much they want to, the fact remains that they all have parents and Harry doesn't.

He shies from the memory of Sirius, the fierce joy on his godfather's face when he saw Harry for Christmas during his fifth year. How despite how much Harry may have wanted to believe that Sirius was who he'd needed, his godfather had been just as lost as him. A desperate man grasping for straws of his lost loved ones. He'd called Harry "James" at the end, and though Harry loves Sirius more than he can put into words, the pain at knowing Sirius might not have really seen Harry still stings. 

It isn't fair, he thinks. And the knowledge that he deserves a parent, someone who's his first and no one else's burns through him so harshly, Harry can't breathe. He thinks of the resurrection stone, of his mother, twenty-one, only two years older than Harry is now. He thinks of his father, of how he has his friends back and Harry is here again. Alone, save for the travelling clouds and Draco at his side. 

"Do you...that is, have you heard of the Deathly Hallows?" Harry asks, knowing as he speaks that this is as good as a confession.

Draco falters in his stride. "Yes," he says at last. "I know about the resurrection stone. You...I heard you talking in your sleep."

Harry freezes, the open admission making something catch in his chest. Draco stops too and it's a moment before he turns to Harry. In the dim light of the night, his eyes are a deep grey that reminds Harry of the new stone Hogwarts walls. Unbidden, the memories come in flashes: Draco on his knees in an empty charms classroom, Harry pulling the curtains closed around them as they fall into bed together, Draco with his hands in Harry's hair, whispering promises into Harry's lips as they kiss. 

Harry shakes his head and turns away to gather himself. He blames the fragility of the night, the way the darkness and the trees create the illusion of privacy. He has done his best to avoid being alone with Draco ever since they ended things. It does Harry no good to dwell on the things they've done. He prefers this problem shelved and over with, because it means there's at least one thing he has a handle on. He may not know what he's going to do with the rest of his life, but at least he knows where he stands with Draco.

"Can I ask you a question?" Draco asks, his voice low to match the intimacy of the dark forest. 

Harry's ready for the memories this time, for the way he can suddenly see the empty eighth-year dormitory and Draco in his school robes. They'd been headed to Charms that morning, had gotten caught up because Harry had kept untying Draco's tie whenever he'd tried to get ready. Until Draco had shoved Harry down onto his bed and kissed him. Until Harry had had no choice but to do whatever Draco had wanted. 

Harry smiles now. "Can I stop you?"

"If you were to find the stone," Draco says. "Would you really use it?"

Harry looks away, up to the clouds overhead. They're white where the moon pushes through, fading into grey, then to a dark purple that leads to black. There are no stars to count, no constellations for them to gaze upon atop the Astronomy Tower. 

"You don't have to answer if you don't want," Draco says, his words enunciated clearly so there's no way for Harry to mishear them. 

There's a rustle to their left and they both tense, wands raised as they wait to see what comes through the bushes. When it turns out to be a thestral, its leathery wings folded over its thin skeletal back, they lower their wands. It occurs to Harry, as they watch the thestral picking at the dirt by its feet, that there are more students who can see them this year. He looks to Draco and when their eyes meet, Harry knows he's thinking the same thing.

"I remember all of the people he made me torture," Draco says not looking away from Harry. "The funny thing about the Cruciatus Curse is that you really have to want it for it to work. And I had to want it so that I could keep my mother safe."

Draco pauses, his eyes looking at something past Harry that only he can see. Harry stays silent, knowing what this confession is costing Draco. He understands the embarrassment of unburdening to the people he loves, though he would never confuse what Draco's doing now for a declaration of love. Harry knows this is the last attempt of a desperate man wanting to save himself. It's almost the same as walking into the Forbidden Forest to look for the resurrection stone in hopes of seeing his parents one more time. Just long enough to ask them what they think he should do. 

"When I sleep," Draco starts again, quieter this time so that Harry has to step closer, so that they're almost touching. "When I close my eyes at night, he's back in my home, digging through all my thoughts. Except that this time, I can't keep him out so he sees everything. He sees how much I fear him, how much I hate him. He sees…"

Draco falters and turns to Harry with a terrified look in his eyes. 

"He's gone," Harry says, brushing his own hair away from his face, the side of his fingers just touching the mark that stars on his forehead. "Trust me."

Draco shakes his head. "The resurrection stone brings back the dead."

"That's just a story," Harry says with no real conviction. 

"Mother said," Draco starts, licks his dry lips and continues, "Mother said that you were dead and then suddenly, you weren't. You mentioned the stone in your sleep. You say...you say your mother's name."

Draco's eyes shine in the moonlight, the clouds parted again and lighting up the enclosure in stripes. To their right, the thestral wanders off, its wings brushing against tree bark as it goes. Its departure reminds Harry of why he's here, wandering the forest with Draco.

He wants to speak to his parents. To Sirius. To Lupin and Tonks.

He wants to ask them why they're gone, why Sirius called him "James," why Lupin and Tonks left Teddy alone. They could have lived, could have been here to tell Harry what to do, who to be in the absence of any direction. He feels cold all of a sudden and when Harry looks down, he can see his hands shaking. The tremors start in his hands and when he clenches his fist, he can feel them crawl up his arms until it's all he can do to keep his breaths steady. 

Harry inhales and holds it until his chest hurts. When he exhales, he feels the familiar itch he'd felt in the dormitories, that faint desire to walk away and keep going until he can't recognize his surroundings. He thinks of leaving everything behind. He can start walking now and disguise himself, get lost in the Muggle world. If he leaves, he won't have to read the papers or hear McGonagall's hints that he ought to have met with her about his future career path already. If he walks away now, no one will know.

No one except Draco.

"He won't come back," Harry says, knowing he'd never leave. 

Not when Draco needs him. Not when the wizarding world needs him. And it infuriates him to think of his life so constrained, to be this person who will put everything aside for the rest of the world. It's unfair that they ask for so much, that he can't turn to his parents or his godfather and ask them to fix it. That he's never had that and never will. That he's the one who has to offer reassurances to others, that he has to lead and be a man. That despite knowing this and wanting this from him, no one has told him how.

"What do you want to ask your parents?" Draco asks.

Harry's gaze snaps back to Draco, the denial dying in his throat. He's so tired of this delicate dance between them, of denying himself the comfort of Draco's embrace. 

Why did you leave me, he wants to ask. But he knows it's selfish to phrase the question that way. Draco had asked whether Harry had really loved him, whether he'd been sure that what they were doing was something Harry had wanted and not something he'd felt he'd been losing. Harry hadn't understood what Draco had meant back then, how it'd mattered that Harry's words had been because he really loved Draco and not because he'd felt as though Draco would leave if Harry didn't love him back. 

In the end, Harry hadn't been able to lie. 

He looks out at the forest, catches sight of something shining in the moonlight. He turns his back, his heart beating hard in his chest. He knows it's impossible that the stone fell here, that he's found it so soon into this walk. He searches the ground, Draco momentarily forgotten, and when his eyes sweep through the forest floor once more, he sees a small puddle in the middle of the path. It gives off a silvery sheen from this distance, some combination of liquid and forest debris. Harry thinks of unicorn blood and the reminder of Draco in the forest when they were first-years makes him smile. 

"Do you remember first year?" Harry asks. "When we came to the forest?"

"You mean when your self-righteousness almost got us killed?" Draco asks, smiling. "Yes, I do."

"Did you think then that we'd ever be here again. Like this."

"Like what?"

Harry steps closer and he doesn't know what Draco sees on his face, but he stills. He's watching Harry with careful eyes but he doesn't move when Harry reaches out again. This time when Harry runs the back of his hand across Draco's face, Draco sighs. Harry watches the sweep of his eyelashes, the long shadows hitting the outer edges of the bags underneath Draco's eyes. He's so still, Harry could almost pretend they're back in their room or in one of the empty classrooms. 

"I think," Harry says, moving his hand to hold Draco's face. "No. I know that I ruined things between us. But I'd like it if you'd give me another chance to explain." 

The darkness makes it easy to admit his faults, and Harry can tell that Draco feels the same desire for openness and honesty. That, away from prying eyes, they can be truthful. 

No one has to know, Harry thinks. Like no one has to know how angry he's been. But that doesn't matter at that moment, because what Harry wants is to know whether Draco trusts him, whether he'll believe him when Harry tries to explain.

"I promise you're safe," Harry says, and the way Draco's mouth drops open, lets Harry know he's surprised him. "Voldermort's not coming back. Do you believe me?"

Draco takes his time answering. That's how Harry knows that whatever comes out of Draco's mouth next, will be the absolute truth.

Finally, Draco nods once. "Yes," he says. "I do." 

Harry smiles, the first real smile in what feels like ages. He's surprised to find that there's less room for the anger in his joy. 

"I wasn't ready," Harry says. "I thought that I'd lose you and I'd already lost so much. I didn't...I might not ever learn how to not want things so strongly. It's…"

Harry laughs as he remembers Hermione's disapproving frown when she'd caught Harry asleep outside her and Ron's room in Grimmauld Place. He'd slept with them for half the summer, tucked between her and Ron, where he'd been able to touch them and know they were safe. He thinks back to how he patrols the Hogwarts corridors, always with an ear out for danger. He doesn't think he'll ever be able to walk into a room without checking it for traps, doesn't know how he'll ever stop being afraid of losing more people he loves. 

"It's a work in progress," Harry says, finally. "Hermione's words. Ron doesn't mind. I think he needs it as much as I do, knowing that there's nothing he can do that'll make me want to stop being his friend." 

Draco reaches up to where Harry's hand rests over his shoulder. He twines their fingers together and lowers their hands. 

"It isn't fair that you've had to fight all your life to protect the things you love," Draco says. "And it isn't fair that the world wants more from you."

It's painful to hear the words out in the open. Their echoes rise like poisonous gas until they choke the breath out of Harry. He feels himself flinch, his shoulders tensing. It's all out in the open, and part of him is already forming his denial, already making excuses for the entire wizarding world. The part that's still angry at his parents, at Sirius, at Lupin and Tonks, falters. 

It isn't fair.

Harry wants to scream, to throw things, to watch as his anger ruins everything around him. They're in the forest and there's nothing but the moonlight, the trees, and the worn dirt path. He thinks of the stone, feels the coil of desperation deep in his chest, a hot roiling thing that chokes him. He wants to see his parents, to direct his anger where it belongs and away from the people in his life. 

At the end of the day, what Harry wants more than anything is to stop feeling so lost. 

He's just so tired.

"I wouldn't bring them back," Harry says and his voice sounds cold and distant even to himself. "I don't want...it's too late now."

He means that having his parents back now wouldn't make a difference, that he knows it's not their fault they weren't around. He means that he loved Sirius and Sirius loved him and sometimes, people who love each other can hurt each other. That it's so much easier to hurt a loved one than it is to hurt a stranger. He means that Lupin and Tonks didn't love Teddy any less when they tried to make the world a better place for him.

Harry sighs, the anger disappearing into the night. He watches his breath misting in front of him, the way it swirls away to nothingness. He thinks of the halfway-solid shadows of his parents, of how they would never be enough, how it's too late for them to see him grow up. He thinks of the broken green gemstone and Dumbledore's withered hand. Deep down, Harry's always known he wouldn't use the resurrection stone even if he ever found it.

"I know you wouldn't," Draco says, breaking the silence. 

Harry looks at him a little too quickly, but Draco just shrugs.

"I know you better than that," he says. 

They're quiet for a moment, the night air blowing through the trees, ruffling Draco's hair. Harry thinks of the cold bed waiting for him back in their dormitory, of the suffocating silence and the revealing moonlight. He shivers as he remembers another full moon night and the secrets that came out then. He thinks of Draco's nightmares, of how Harry's still working on not being afraid of losing the people he loves, of holding on less tightly and letting them be free. They haven't solved everything but the moon is lowering in the sky and Harry's so tired.

"Stay with me tonight," he says before he can stop himself. "And tomorrow. Just...I'm tired of being angry. I'm tired of not doing what I want." 

Draco's resplendent in the moonlight, so easy to pinpoint as he closes the distance between them. Harry watches him, the careful movements, how he gives Harry enough time to step away before pulling him in. The kiss is barely there, something slow and gentle that makes Harry's breath catch in his throat. 

"I love you," Draco says. 

Harry inhales and the pressure against his chest almost feels like pain. He allows himself a moment to wish Sirius were here, another for his parents, for someone to guide him through what this all means. Then he exhales and watches his breath mist in the winter air. He looks back at Draco, the careful smile, his red nose, and the way the moonlight catches on his hair.

"I love you, too," Harry says, and as the clouds move to cover the moon, Harry feels the last of his anger ebbing away.

They turn to head back into the castle and every step forward feels like letting go. 

-

Somewhere in the depths of the Forbidden Forest, a single skeletal hoof presses over a wet mound of dirt, and the resurrection stone sinks a little further underground.

**Author's Note:**

> This work is part of the 2020 HP Inspired by Imagery Fest, an on-going anonymous fest. Authors will be revealed once all works are posted.
> 
> Comments and kudos are hugely appreciated.


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